


and i've moved further than i thought i could

by cherishmartell



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 07:32:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16132592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherishmartell/pseuds/cherishmartell
Summary: Mary finally gives him an ultimatum three weeks after Thomas’s second birthday.





	and i've moved further than i thought i could

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Amber Run's I Found.

i.

Mary finally gives him an ultimatum three weeks after Thomas’s second birthday. She hadn’t been able to sleep the night before, so she slipped down to the kitchen to make herself a cup of chamomile tea. She’d been in the process of getting a mug down from the cupboard when Abe slipped through the side door, tie askew and smelling strongly of another woman’s perfume. It’s so different from Mary’s own scent, delicate honeysuckle that, for a moment, she let herself wonder about **her**. Anna Strong, the other woman. Then Abe turned around and jumped at the sight of her and her train of thought dissipated. 

 

ii.

She approaches him the next day, after she’s put their crabby son down for his nap. “We can’t live like this anymore.” Mary tells him, trying her best to keep her voice from trembling. _I can’t live like this anymore_ is what she means. Abe’s face falls guiltily as he sets down the work he’s brought home to prep for an upcoming case. 

He pulls her, unresisting, into his arms before gently resting his chin atop her head. He apologizes, of course, and admits she’s right. _Of course she’s right_. He knows she deserves someone better, he knows this, so he begs, pleads for a chance. One more chance to show he’s changed, one more chance to prove how much he loves her. He murmurs into her hair that he’d be lost without her, without Thomas. She’s the only thing that makes sense, the only constant in his life. She is his north star; without her, he’d be lost.

So what more can she do, aside from looking up at him with a tremulous smile, whisper her agreement as she gently pulls his head down for a kiss. But as he pulls her in closer, holds her tighter, Mary can’t help but recognize the uncomfortable familiarity of it all. This isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation, and she has a sinking feeling that it won’t be the last. 

 

iii.

And, for a while, things are good. He’s sweet to her, of course; Abe refuses to leave the house for work without kissing her, deeply, like he did in the early years of their relationship. He comes home on time, even when his father bemoans his only (living) son’s lack of initiative, and spends hours playing on the floor with Thomas. It’s something he’s always done, but now he grins, looks at her like she’s the center of his universe. Like he doesn’t want to be anywhere else but here. He brings home flowers and surprises her with little gifts. 

For those short, perfect months, it’s like living in a dream and Mary can’t help but beg _please, please let it stick_. But her prayers go unanswered. 

It doesn’t last. It never does. 

 

iv.

Thomas is napping and she’s sorting through dirty laundry when she finds the hair, tangled in the weave of one of his sweaters. It’s long and dark, so unlike her own; reason is thrown to the wind as quiet anger sets in. He’s lied before, countless times but something has changed. She’s tired, so tired, of being the naïve, trusting wife. As she stares down at the button down shirt clutched in her white knuckled grasp, another emotion slips in behind the hushed rage. Resolve. _Determination_. She might be his north star, but she will always be outshone by **her**. The dog star. 

That might be enough for Abraham, might even be enough for **her** , but it isn’t enough for Mary. Not anymore. 

 

v.

Mary waits up for him, nursing a mug of tea that has long since gone cold. The warmth had comforted her, emboldened her in the face of a difficult conversation. But the hours have slipped by like water and there has been no sign of Abraham. Finally, at a quarter to twelve, her errant husband finally appears; his tie is missing, his hair is mussed and dark crescents underline exhausted eyes as he heavily steps through the side door and shuts it behind her. Abraham turns, his eyes falling on her and he blinks uncertainly, as though she is a figment of his imagination conjured by a guilty conscience. “Mare?” he whispers hoarsely, “What are you doing up so late?”

Mary forces herself to sit up straighter, takes a nervous sip of tea out of habit and wrinkles her nose when she process the cold, bitter taste. “Waiting for you.” She says softly. Her eyes lock onto his face as she carefully says “We need to talk.”

 

vi.

Abraham doesn’t even try to ask to change, ask if they can talk in the morning, when they’re both clear headed. He looks defeated as he drops into the chair opposite her, wearily reaches up to scrub the heels of his hands over his eyes. Silence reigns for a moment, then two. Finally he says what she was expecting. He apologizes and when she asks where he’s been, that she called his office looking for him and was told by his father he was already gone, he flinches guiltily. When she asks if he was with **her** , he hesitates before slowly nodding. 

Though she’s known this for what feels like forever, the pain still hits her hard, makes her suck in a breath. She doesn’t ask how long and he doesn’t make excuses. They’re long past the point and to try to disguise that is foolish. 

She does ask why, ask how he could do this to her, to their precious Thomas who, by some miracle, is still sleeping above them. At first, he’s apologetic, tearful; Abraham admits that he messed up, took her for granted. He tells her that work has been stressful, that he was weak and fell back into bad habits. 

She’s his first love and he tried to stay away, he really did.

Maybe in the beginning, she would accepted his words with a cold detachment, reminiscent of a Victorian era wife. Forgiven his transgressions and turn a blind eye when he betrayed her over and over again. 

But something in her has shattered. 

She’s been quiet for so long and now the words come pouring out, like a flood from a broken dam. 

She screams that he took away the best years of her life, wasted them when she could have been out there, looking for someone who loved her a fraction of what Thomas had felt for her. That, from the very start, he neglected her; she remembers that time (after the tentative sweetness wore off), hates that she would have done anything to get a kind word from him, a smile. At first, Abe stares at her in stunned silence. 

But, as the barbs begin to sink into him, he returns to life. He shoves to his feet, the chair clattering to the floor. Mary thinks she hears Thomas give a cry, but then Abraham is shouting. He accuses her of using him as a replacement for Thomas, of constantly trying to mold him into the image of his brother. 

There’s more words said, hurled like knives from opposite sides of the table but they’re lost in the maelstrom stirred up between them.

She doesn’t know how long they stand there, dredging up old sins and hurts, but it feels like an eternity. 

Though their words hold years of ugliness and bitterness, they’re finally honest, for the first time in a long time. 

 

vii.

In the end, Abraham leaves, letting the door slam shut in a rare moment of fury. Thomas, who is definitely awake, lets out a piteous wail. The sound cuts her to the quick, joining the other hurts reopened tonight. 

As she walks numbly for the stairs, she slowly turns the night’s events over in her head. 

Mary has lost a husband tonight and though she is straying into uncertain waters, she feels peace.


End file.
